


Something Stronger (+ art)

by chamyl, ingafterdark (ingthing)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Art, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Finger Sucking, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Illustrations, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, Light Bondage, Love, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, NSFW Art, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romance, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, Tenderness, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingthing/pseuds/ingafterdark
Summary: It’s not just about lust, and it’s not just about love.The angel flips them around, trapping Crowley between himself and the wall, and already the demon feels calmer, more centred. Just – the reassuring weight and warmth of Aziraphale’s body anchoring him to the here and now, anchoring the thoughts in his head to the rest of him. The force of the angel’s palm against his chest, Aziraphale’s thigh firmly lodged between his legs.☀️When Crowley can't shake off a gnawing, heavy feeling of restlessness by himself, he trusts in Aziraphale to help him clear and settle his mind.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 110
Kudos: 872
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Our Own Side





	Something Stronger (+ art)

**Author's Note:**

> 💥 BEWARE, NSFW ILLUSTRATIONS AHEAD 💥

Sometimes, it’s not just about love. Sometimes, it’s not just about lust either.

Sometimes, Crowley’s mind starts wandering towards ugly places and needs to be stopped. He needs to be grounded. He needs to be reminded that there are still good things in the world, that it was worth all the trouble they went through to save it.

It isn’t easy, living with the first-hand knowledge of how unfair, inscrutable and harsh the Almighty can be.

The wandering happens, generally, when he’s been following the news a bit too closely. Or when he’s spent too much time around the humans, and has seen their suffering up close. He’ll come around, he knows – in a few days the entirely undemonic optimism he’s never quite managed to suppress will bubble up and convince him everything will be just fine. Not perfect, not by a long shot, but _fine_. He’ll convince himself that most humans live a life that’s worth the trouble, and he’ll be back to himself.

But until then, he’s restless. The Bentley can’t drive fast enough; the beautiful garden he’s been cultivating around their cottage looks bland and boring. There’s nothing good on the telly, and all his ideas to cause a little good-natured havoc in the village are uninteresting and uncreative.

It had taken Crowley a while to explain this to Aziraphale – the restlessness, the nervousness. When they didn’t live together, he could just fuck off to his own apartment and sulk in peace. Not so now.

The first few times, Aziraphale asked Crowley if he’d done something wrong to vex him so. Once, he even thought Crowley had wanted to leave, that he’d grown bored with him – as if that were ever a possibility. Crowley had made sure to cling to him the whole night, after that episode. They’d fallen asleep wrapped up in each other, and in the morning the angel had seemed satisfied that, whatever the problem was, it wasn’t him – it would never be him.

His silly, beautiful angel. And here Crowley thought he’d made it abundantly clear that he’s hopelessly, irredeemably in love with him, that he’s always been in love with him, even though his throat closes up every time he tries to say it aloud. He has to trust that Aziraphale can sense it, instead.

A few years in, and the angel is quicker to recognise the first signs of his lover’s restlessness. Crowley wouldn’t say he takes it out on Aziraphale (he _never_ would), but he does keep poking him in a million little ways – driving faster than usual to their favourite restaurant, choosing music that is particularly _bebop_ , playing silly tricks on the rude couple at the table next to theirs.

Aziraphale is well and truly irritated by the time they get home from their date. And, as soon as they step inside and the front door is closed, Crowley is on him, pushing him up against the wall and sliding his hands into his jacket. Aziraphale makes a surprised sound that’s muffled by an unexpected kiss, but soon enough he catches up and begins to kiss back.

It’s not just about lust, and it’s not just about love.

He flips them around, trapping Crowley between himself and the wall, and already the demon feels calmer, more centred. Just – the reassuring weight and warmth of Aziraphale’s body anchoring him to the here and now, anchoring the thoughts in his head to the rest of him. The force of the angel’s palm against his chest, Aziraphale’s thigh firmly lodged between his legs.

Crowley grabs his wrist. Aziraphale has lovely, soft, _strong_ hands, and the demon guides one of them to his neck, pressing it into his own skin to demonstrate. They’ve done this before, but something in Aziraphale’s gaze tells him the angel is having some qualms about doing it tonight.

Crowley licks along the soft line of Aziraphale’s lips, pulls him even closer. Behind Crowley’s glasses, his eyes turn completely yellow as he anticipates his angel – his gentle, kind angel – showing him the rougher side of himself, the one that’s reserved just for Crowley, and only when both of them are in the right headspace for it.

Aziraphale pins him to the wall by the neck, firm but gentle, his thumb against the demon’s pulse, but doesn’t press into it like Crowley would like. Instead, he studies him carefully, no doubt trying to gauge what his demon wants and what his demon needs, checking carefully to see that the two align. His kind, beautiful, fussy angel, who can wreck Crowley in the best of ways when he sets his mind to it.

_Come on, angel._

Crowley pinches Aziraphale on the thigh through the fabric of his trousers and the angel yelps. His eyes narrow in annoyance and Crowley bites his lower lip, his vision tunnelling to the angel in front of him. Aziraphale has had just enough of his antics.

The angel interlaces the fingers of the hands they still have free. The next kiss is breathless, urgent, desperate, and then, unexpectedly, it calms, becomes softer and softer, gentler, warmer, and Crowley’s pulse slows with it.

He goes slack against the wall and Aziraphale releases his hand and neck, cupping his face in his fingers instead. Crowley breathes him in.

It almost works. He’s almost moved away from frenzied need and steered towards sweet, slow tenderness. Which would be fucking fantastic, no doubt – but he needs something stronger today.

He grins as he slips out of Aziraphale’s hold to playfully nip at the skin along his jawline.

Aziraphale’s eyebrow quirks up. “Bedroom,” he says – orders, almost, “try and get there before I do.”

Excitement shivers through Crowley’s body and he doesn’t quite run to the bedroom, but it’s a near thing. However, angels can move through space in the blink of an eye and Aziraphale is behind him before he can make it through the threshold.

The tip of Aziraphale’s index finger meets the very middle of his spine, and the light shock of angelic power that hits Crowley has him gasping and arching his back. He trips over his feet, and he would have fallen and gotten a mouthful of floor if the bed hadn’t magically moved forward to catch him.

Crowley makes an undignified noise into the mattress; he would have preferred breaking his nose and keeping his pride. But no, of course – Aziraphale wouldn’t have allowed him to get hurt.

Although… maybe this isn’t so bad. He hears the angel stepping closer, and Crowley’s already savouring the idea of Aziraphale towering over him, pushing his face into the bed, maybe pulling his hair a bit while he’s at it – when, instead, he’s helped up and guided onto the sheets.

The angel lies next to him. Once they’re both on the bed, facing each other, Aziraphale raises a hand towards Crowley’s sunglasses, pauses, raises an eyebrow. The demon nods, so Aziraphale gently plucks them off his face and turns for a moment to leave them on the nightstand.

“Crowley,” he says, reaching out again, the warm palm of his hand cupping Crowley’s cheek. “You’ve been needling me all week again.”

“Have I?” Crowley replies, but he’s already squirming a bit under his touch, coaxing Aziraphale’s hand down to his neck. He knows he won’t be able to distract the angel from the conversation, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try. He’s still a demon, after all, tempting is his playing field. Lying on his side, he casually stretches out as if waking from a nice long nap, tilting his head back, exposing his throat, reaching up his arms towards the pillows and baring his midriff, letting out a low purr of a moan.

Crowley wouldn’t have thought himself able to tempt the angel with this body of his – if Aziraphale hadn’t, little by little and then all at once; let it slip just how attracted he is to him. Oh, Aziraphale would wax lyrical about any part of Crowley’s body, under the right circumstances. About his _beautiful, intensely fierce eyes_. About his _mouth_ with _surprisingly plush lips_. About his _absolutely delectable neck_ , that is _begging to be kissed at all times and,_ _on occasion, bitten_.

In the heat of the moment, Aziraphale spills praise all over him, unable to help himself. Crowley basks in it without shame, like a snake in the sun. He basks, even when his ears tingle and burn at the mention of the _lovely constellation of freckles_ along the curve of his shoulder, or his _narrow waist, a perfect fit in my hands_ , and _oh Lord, your hips were made to tempt me, Crowley, my dearest_. Aziraphale even lavished words on the _perfect arches_ of his feet.

For Crowley’s hands, Aziraphale could write epics. Crowley distinctly remembers the first time the angel praised them – couldn’t possibly forget it. Crowley had two fingers inside of the angel and Aziraphale was holding him at the wrist, controlling every movement to his liking. He’d claimed Crowley’s other hand for himself too, sucking on his digits. He stopped only to tell Crowley, as he fucked himself with the demon’s hand, that he had the best hands in all creation – blasphemy, really. _Your beautiful, beautiful hands. Oh Crowley, oh, they are perfect, they were made for me, my love, can you tell? Can you tell how well your fingers fit inside me?_ His eyes had rolled all the way back and he’d trapped the demon’s fingers between his lips again, and he’d come just like that, cock untouched, his moans encompassing Crowley’s knuckles.

So now… yes. Crowley is quite confident he can tempt him.

But maybe not when Aziraphale is so concerned by his state of mind.

“What’s wrong?” The angel asks, stroking his hair. Crowley realises – belatedly – this was a trap. He can’t disentangle himself from Aziraphale’s arms and walk away now.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “M’fine.”

“ _Crowley,_ ” Aziraphale says, and the demon knows he’s not going to wriggle his way out of this.

“I…” he begins, his mouth dry, “I need—” he grinds his teeth, not sure where he’s going with that. What does he need? He needs to not think for a while. He needs Aziraphale. He needs to forget about everything, just for tonight.

When his sentence remains unfinished, Aziraphale presses his forehead against Crowley’s for a moment. “Yes,” he agrees, simply, as he snaps his fingers.

Crowley turns to lie on his back as an invisible force pulls at his hands, and then something soft slides against his wrists and closes around them, securing them to the headboard.

Crowley grins. _Now we’re talking_. He shifts around a little and realises whatever’s tying him is very soft – velvet, maybe? – and that it’s just tight enough that he can’t free himself, but won’t hurt him at all if he doesn’t squirm around too much.

He huffs a bit. This is not what he had in mind, but hey – maybe now that the angel has him where he wants him, Aziraphale will finally rough him up like Crowley’s been craving.

The angel pulls back and, as he does, he runs a hand down along the demon’s body, making Crowley’s clothes disappear as he goes, save his boxer briefs.

“Nice trick,” Crowley says, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips.

“Why, that’s a first,” Aziraphale smiles at him as he sits back on his haunches between Crowley’s bared legs.

The angel runs a warm hand along the demon’s lithe ankle, over muscle and bone. His blue eyes bore into the demon’s, and Crowley shifts against his restraints, warmth rushing to his groin because he knows – that’s a promise there, in his angel’s gaze. Aziraphale’s hand stops on his shin and pushes to the side, nudging Crowley to spread his legs.

The demon swallows, open and vulnerable under the angel’s stare. He looks down and can see his hard cock straining against the thin fabric of his underwear, can see the shiny wet spot where he’s leaking already.

Yes, this is what he wanted. Kind of. He was thinking of teeth and nails and sharp stings of pain, but the anticipation, the exposure – they work just as well. He can’t think of anything else besides the way Aziraphale’s lips have curled into a slight, satisfied smirk – the one he wears when he’s about to feast.

Aziraphale leans over to kiss the side of his knee as his fingers graze the smooth flesh of Crowley’s inner thigh. The angel makes a delighted noise against the demon’s skin, as if – God and Satan and everything in between – as if he were savouring something delicious, as if there were something irresistible about Crowley’s taste. His lips flutter higher up, closer and closer to the hem of Crowley’s underwear. The angel’s teeth nip at his thigh ever so gently in all the right spots, sending shivers up the demon’s spine.

Just as Crowley expects to finally be touched, just as he thinks the next thing Aziraphale will do is get rid of his underwear and kiss the wet head of his aching cock – instead, the angel skips right over it and leaves a kiss by his navel, making the demon exhale a frustrated, shaky breath.

Aziraphale’s pink, swollen lips suck a red mark into his side, and Crowley forgets about anything and everything else in the world. Aziraphale’s firm hands hold down his hips, thumbs digging into his flesh. Just by accident, the angel brushes against Crowley’s cock, still trapped in underwear, and – God, it’s absolutely maddening. It’s absolutely perfect.

“Angel…” Crowley groans and tries to lift his hips, only to be pushed back down into the bed.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale replies, shifting up to give a pert nipple a long, sloppy lick, and Crowley’s hands tighten into fists above his head, “I’m going to ask you to be patient, my dear.”

“I’m patient,” Crowley shoots back quickly, too quickly, too eager to please, too eager to be told he’s good and be rewarded for it. But Aziraphale chuckles fondly, and doesn’t make fun of him, not even for a moment.

“I know, darling.” Aziraphale says, and whatever comeback Crowley had cooked up dies in his throat as the angel kisses him. It’s a deep, wet kiss, and the demon feels his brain melt right out of his ears.

And then, finally, _finally_ , Aziraphale looks at him in the eyes as he makes his way back down Crowley’s body, tucks a white-blonde curl behind his ear (fuck, why is that so erotic?) and presses his tongue flat against the crown of Crowley’s cock through the fabric, and Crowley – his spine leaves the mattress and a desperate sound escapes his throat as he squirms and wordlessly begs for more. Aziraphale presses him back down again and leisurely laps at him through his underwear.

“Patience,” Aziraphale murmurs, and Crowley feels the shape of the word against his cock, feels himself leaking everywhere. _Patience_. Right. Easier said than done. He takes a deep breath and tries very hard not to vibrate out of his skin as Aziraphale lazily licks at him over the soaked cotton. He’s – _they’re_ – making a goddamn mess, and it’s only after a few minutes of this torment that Crowley realises the incoherent muttering he’s hearing is his own voice, babbling nonsense, begging.

“ _Please_ —God, I— _angel_ , it’s—I need—please, _fuck_ , please, _please_ —”

Aziraphale lets out a harsh breath, then a little giggle, a hand holding Crowley’s sharp hipbone tightly. “I wanted—ah, I had planned to wait much longer, darling, but I simply can’t,” the angel snaps his fingers and most of his clothes disappear, leaving him in pale blue shirt and socks, “looking at you, I can’t wait any longer.”

“Aziraphale—” Crowley groans out, tugging hard at his restraints, wanting nothing more than to sink his hands in the angel’s backside, feel the weight of him in his fingers, open him wide and guide him onto his cock—but he can’t.

He can’t, and he knows that, and Aziraphale knows that, because as he straddles him he finally tugs the waistband of Crowley’s underwear to free his cock, and holds it firmly in his hand. He balances himself on his knees, his other hand on the demon’s chest, and slowly, ever so slowly, lowers himself onto it, taking him in inch by inch.

Crowley almost sobs with relief. Aziraphale closes his eyes, his beautiful mouth open in bliss. He stays completely still for a few moments, enjoying the feeling – giving Crowley the chance to do the same. And the demon does, revelling in the way Aziraphale is maddeningly tight and hot and slick around his cock, enjoying the slow, barely-there up-and-down shifting of his body.

When Aziraphale moves, it’s with no rush, it’s experimental, seeking the best angle – and Crowley can’t quite form words anymore, but he tries to encourage him anyway with eager, pleasured sounds with every shift of his hips. Then, the angel finds the best position – and Crowley can tell, because Aziraphale makes a low, surprised _ooh_ that the demon recognises all too well – and sets a rhythm.

It’s painfully slow. Aziraphale rises, the drag of his body absolutely maddening around Crowley’s cock, and almost lets him slip out – then sits back down until the demon is bottoming out again, and Crowley curses and thrashes against his restraints.

But Aziraphale has no mercy. He doesn’t move faster, doesn’t let Crowley fuck up into him, either. The demon can see Aziraphale’s swollen erection, its head beaded with precome, can tell it must be hard and painful already – but he also knows the angel’s dogged determination when he sees it. They lock eyes for a moment, and there it is: the persistence that made Aziraphale bear his role for thousands of years, the strength it took him to leave everything behind and come back to Crowley, to save the world together.

Crowley’s fucked in more ways than one. He shuts his eyes tight and thanks whoever for the gorgeous, incredible angel determined to fuck every last thought out of his brain.

He doesn’t even realise he’s about to come until he has to actively stop himself from doing just that, pressing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. Aziraphale pauses for just a moment.

“Not yet, please,” the angel breathes, and Crowley’s tightens his fists so hard his nails sink into the skin of his palms.

Crowley doesn’t know it yet, but this will happen three more times. Three more times he’ll stop himself right on the brink, and Aziraphale will ask him – never harshly, always softly, always lovingly – to wait a little longer for him. Just a little longer.

Until Crowley feels like he’s going to explode if he’ll wait any longer, and he can’t even look at Aziraphale anymore, afraid he’ll come just from seeing his angel with his shirt stuck to damp skin, with his cock hard and dripping onto Crowley’s stomach, with his face flushed and his eyelids fluttering with every thrust.

And then, a miracle – Aziraphale leans over him, kisses him, calls Crowley back to himself.

“Crowley,” he pants, breathless, beautiful, “Crowley. I love you more than anything.”

Crowley doesn’t reply, can’t reply, only nods, his eyes squeezed shut.

Aziraphale kisses the corner of his lips, and his cheek.

“Crowley,” he says again, and he sounds so damn fond the demon almost sobs, “I’m going to finish now, and then I want you to follow me.”

Again, all Crowley can do is nod.

Aziraphale keeps his word. He sits back up, finds his angle again, arches his back so that Crowley can reach deep, deep inside him, wraps his hand around his own cock – and it only takes a few thrusts for him to come all over Crowley’s chest. And the way he clenches, the sounds he makes, the hot splatter of semen, the smell of sex filling the room and his lungs – Crowley is done for.

Galaxies explode behind his eyes as he comes, a violent wave of pleasure that goes on and on and on, and when Aziraphale chooses that moment to dissipate his bindings, Crowley grabs him by the hips and immediately flips them over, fucking into his own spend, impossibly coming still (again?), egged on by the obscene slap of their bodies joining, by Aziraphale’s hands clutching to him, by the angel’s _yes, yes, yes._

When he’s done, he’s completely wrung out. He falls on top of the angel, mutters some sort of apology.

“None of that now,” Aziraphale chides him gently, running a hand along his bare, damp back, “I enjoyed myself very much.”

“Yeah,” Crowley smirks, and there it is, here he is: himself, back again. “I could tell.”

Aziraphale scoffs, and Crowley kisses it from his lips.

It is, after all, about love. And about lust. And about asking for help, and about trust. It’s about letting himself fall and knowing he’ll be caught. It’s about a connection so deep it feels unbreakable, forged through thousands of years of friendship.

This heavy cloud settling over his thoughts and weighing him down will come again, but Aziraphale will be there to help him out of the storm. And Crowley has no doubt – the angel’s love is stronger than any force on earth, and will be there for him, always, as sure as the sun will rise.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hi!
> 
> The fic you just read is a companion piece to the one Ing & I did for the [Flaming like Anything Zine](https://flaminglikeanythingzine.tumblr.com/) 🔥
> 
> The zine piece is called Something Brighter, and features some extremely soft emotional h/c, with Crowley trying to comfort Aziraphale with very, very tender sex. I'm really happy with what I've written and Ing has made the most perfect, beautiful illustrations to go with it ([here's a tiny peek!](https://twitter.com/ingafterdark/status/1218886041962078211)). Preorders opened on the 31st of january, so check it out! There's several tiers, from very cheap to expensive.
> 
> If you don't know what a zine is (I know I didn't before joining this one!) they're passion projects where creators get together to make material for the other fans, and it's a lot of fun. I've seen everyone else's works (tbh, this was one of the best perks of being a part of the zine, lmfao) and I've been blown away by [the sheer talent of everyone involved](https://flaminglikeanythingzine.tumblr.com/post/189598001869/contributor-announcement-flaming-like), featuring different "efforts" and poses and dynamics too. We've made something unique and I want to show it to anyone who'll sit down :D
> 
> Either way, I wanted to make something everyone would get access to regardless of getting the zine, so here's this piece 💕 I hope you enjoyed!!
> 
> With many thanks to my wonderful zine wife, Ing, for the endless back and forth of opinions, chatter, brainstorming, and encouragements. But also for her general Big Ing Energy ✨


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